


Overtime

by 12gatsunohime (inkstainedwretch)



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: F/M, Grell is transgender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-01
Updated: 2010-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 07:47:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26848399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkstainedwretch/pseuds/12gatsunohime
Summary: Will has worked late every night for the past week.
Relationships: William T. Spears/Grell Sutcliff
Kudos: 5





	Overtime

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to livejournal, [here](https://12gatsunohime.livejournal.com/76237.html).
> 
> Intended to follow [Before and After](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26848198), but works as a standalone, too.

Grell got her face kicked in by a demon almost four years ago. It took her two months to get WIll to talk to her again and another to get him to resume their Friday night dates--because let's be honest, that's what they were. The flower box on his windowsill has a lovely arrangement of poinsettias growing in it (it's January, so the options were few, but he did mention he likes red flowers better than any other color), and the bookshelf behind his desk sports a neat row of small porcelain figures, music boxes, and wind-up dolls Grell has picked up on some assignment or another.

Now, it's five minutes until the end of her shift, and Grell is _bored_. Thursdays are the worst day of the week, because they make her wish it was Friday so she could go out with Will to get lemon ice (or hot chocolate, since it's the middle of January). But Will has stayed until god only knows how late every day this week, and it's starting to make her nervous, because WIll doesn't stop a project until it's finished, at the expense of everything else. If there was a way to measure diligence, he'd have an overabundance of it, she's sure.

This is why she leans through the door of his office a minute before her shift ends, looking at him with the sort of imploring eyes that no one but Will himself can resist. It never hurts to try, though.

"Will~" ouch, maybe she overdid the whine a little, "you've been working yourself to death. I do hope this won't get in the way of our plans for tomorrow."

Will looks strained, which makes Grell's heart sink.

"It shouldn't," she can just hear the rest of the sentence on the tip of his tongue, "but if it does, I won't be more than a couple of hours over. Is there anything in particular you had in mind for tomorrow?" 

"I..." she looks at her shoes. "Well, I wanted to go dancing." 

She hears his pen stop, and it gives her hope. Hope, however, is fragile, and the resumed scratching of the nib all but shatters it.

"I see. In that case, I will let you know by the end of shift tomorrow if I will be hindered." 

Grell doesn't bother trying to talk him out of it. Will would work on his mandatory vacation days if it wouldn't cost him his job.

"Alright." She looks up at the form he's been making copies of, slightly confused. She hasn't ever seen that one before. "What on earth are you working on, anyway?" 

"Reviews are coming up." 

"Oh." That hardly explains anything. They've had reviews every five or ten years since they started working, and she's never seen him this worked up beforehand. But she doesn't ask, because the less he has to explain to her, the faster he can get it done.

The walk home seems colder than usual.

~~~

The next day time seems to move like a snail. Grell works twice as fast in an effort to make time move faster, but all that gets her is tired. She walks by the open door of William's office so many times he asks if she's feeling well, which is her cue to sit down and sulk. In the end she gives up and pulls out a book, nonetheless looking up at the clock every five minutes until she hears a soft laugh from her other side.

"What?" a sideways glare is less effective when it's blocked by the frames of one's glasses, but a sideways glare _above_ said glasses is doubly effective, and Grell mastered this art quite some time ago. Ronald, however, is more than used to it by now, and the pout on her lips probably ruins the effect somewhat.

"You're going to be a lot happier when he finally finishes," he says, swaying his chair from side to side, apparently mesmerized by the patterns on the cieling.

Grell snaps the book shut and rounds on him.

"You know what he's doing?"

"I've got a pretty good idea, yes," Ronald stops spinning and turns his chair so he can look at her with his head still lolled back on his chair. "I've seen those forms before. If I hadn't been in this division for as long as I have, I'd have no idea why he was doing it." 

"...You're not going to tell me, are you?"

"Nope," he closes his eyes and kicks away from his desk, spinning round and round and round. "I would _hate_ to ruin this surprise."

Grell huffs and picks up her book again, but as soon as she does, Will comes out of his office.

"Knox, you can go home now." Without any hesitation, Ronald is up from his still-spinning chair and out the door. Will turns to her, looking uncomfortable. Grell can feel her stomach sinking slowly every second he hesitates.

"I'm...almost finished," he sounds downright pained, which gives her some reassurance that at least he doesn't like this any more than she does. "But I still need at least another two hours, because I need to get a report from another department." 

"That's fine," Grell nods. "I'll wait for you." 

If she weren't in her right mind, she would swear he almost smiled at that.

He walks briskly down the hall, and she just picks up her book, no longer bothering to look at the clock. Honestly, Doyle could tell a story better than any cinematic record she's ever seen.

~~~

She ends up falling asleep at her desk until some amazing stroke of intuition wakes her up at fifteen minutes to nine. Before she can wonder why, she's already walked into William's office, where he sits at his desk, putting paper clips on several stacks of paper, most of which have a red stamp somewhere on them that says APPROVED. She wonders how many different floors he's had to run to.

"Oh," he says, finally seeming to notice her after she just watches him for a minute. "I was about to come get you."

"You're finished?" 

"Just now." He nods. "I'm afraid it's a bit past a decent hour to be out, but I'd be glad to accompany you home." 

She shakes her head with a grin. Such a gentleman, even when his hair is falling into his eyes a bit (no doubt from resting his head in his hand at several points).

"Can you tell me what it is you've been doing, now?" She glances over the forms, but she still doesn't see anything she recognizes. Most of them are in envelopes, by now. "I've never seen you do this around review time, and Ronald said I'd like it." 

"DId he." Maybe that wasn't the best thing to say. She mentally apologizes in advance for whatever she's gotten Ron into. "Well, I suppose it's alright if I tell you now." He takes the envelopes and opens the mail slot on the side wall, dropping them in one by one.

"I've been keeping track of everyone's performance numbers for the past few years," for whatever reason, he won't look at her. "And I've noticed that your efficiency has been lower by a steady percentage ever since your...customized scythe was confiscated." 

"No..." 

"And since you have proven yourself a dedicated and diligent member of the department ever since,"

" _William..._ "

"I've cleared things with the supervisors, and they're taking your scythe out of custody. You should recieve it within the week-"

That does it. She all but pounces on him, knocking a stack of papers off his desk and sending them flying, but she doesn't even care because all she can do is cradle his face in her hands and kiss him for all she's worth. It unnerves her slightly when he doesn't move for a good fifteen seconds, and it downright scares her when she feels his hands on the back of her head, but when he holds her tighter and kisses back, she knows she's done the right thing.

Then he rolls them both over so she's lying on her back on top of a crinkly plle of paperwork, and he doesn't let go for an instant, and Grell feels warmer than she has in a long, long time. Eventually they have to breathe, though, and when Grell looks up she can see a fire in his eyes that's new and dangerous looking and really rather exciting.

"DId-" he coughs, obviously trying to regain some of his dignity. "DId you still want to go dancing?" 

"What?" She remembers, "Oh.... No." 

"No?" 

"No, I think," she runs a gloved hand through his hair, loving the way the pomade breaks apart between her fingers, "I think you've done more than enough for one week, Will. And I think you deserve a break." She can't help it, she has to lean up and kiss him again, and when he presses her back down into the carpet she thinks she could really get used to it. "I think we ought to finish this conversation at my house. Or yours, whatever you like." 

"I think," she knows he's smiling now, "that might be the best idea I've heard all week." 


End file.
